[To be fair, it wasn't like Kavinsky had learned how to cook out of choice. It wasn't some secret hobby he didn't talk about. It was just that once he was a somewhat-independent small child, in need of food rather than applesauce and things bought in small jars, veggie sticks and dinosaur chicken nuggets, his parents' interest in providing waned. It wasn't like his mom had ever had an interest in making sure there was dinner on the table, not even back in Jersey.

But, the mother of all invention is necessity, after all. And so Kavinsky had learned. Cereal and toast, at first. But then eggs, microwaveable anything, mac and cheese out of the blue box, grilled cheese, pancakes and french toast, brownies and chocolate chip cookies. So he might not be headed to culinary school anytime soon, but he was competent- trusted himself to be able to follow a recipe. Which was to say that he trusted himself to be able to make dinner for the two of them without making a mess of things.]

Tomorrow. I'll show you how good I can be.

[Which sounds a little filthy, a little bit suggestive with the way he says it low and soft, but it also sounds a little bit like a boy yearning for approval. Adam wasn't the only one desperate for affection, for physical contact, for someone that wanted him. He laughs quietly at the question, but it's warm, not mocking.]

More than alright. I've wanted you to kiss me since you pushed me against the wall. Hell, weeks before this, even.

[He doesn't say please, but you can hear it anyway.]